


Waterbox

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald is kidnapped, but Jim and Harvey get to him just in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waterbox

**Author's Note:**

> I needed some practice writing again; I wished I could incorporate better vocabulary more often, but that's what the practice is for, I guess. Hope it's alright.

Oswald awoke, groggy and sore. He struggled to see through the darkness and felt suddenly wrong. He realized he was upside down, arms tied and legs strung. He jerked, hoping to find a way out to no avail.

“Hello…?” He called out, unsure if he should have done so at all. Not a moment later, he heard grinding all around him, reverberating so immensely he could feel it tickle his ankles through the rope. He could eventually feel it in his chest. The rope he had been hanging from suddenly jerked him down an inch, making his gasp sharply. Just as his vision could adjust to the dark, he was blinded by the bright flare of stage lights. Seeing through spots, he noticed rows of seats, old and musty, covered in plastic, and a balcony half-broken. He was in a theatre. Looking directly below him, there sat a tall tank filling with water. He was starting to feel the effects of hanging upside down for far too long, dizzy, tired, and drained. He couldn’t even fathom being angry as he was lowered into the tank. His head touched the bottom, soaking his hair. He contorted himself as the rope continued to lower him, dull pain stabbed at his hip and down his leg. He managed to wriggle himself upright whilst gritting his teeth and sputtering water as it continued to fill the tank. He tried to stand, slipping and falling, his hands pressed glass. It was stuffy in the box, enough for the already-wet glass to condensate. In panic, Oswald reached into his trouser pockets, pulling them out. He cursed with a kick to the sturdy glass – his phone was gone. He could only assume everything else on him was too. His hands were shaky, practically vibrating as he pressed the glass. He looked up; the box was still open, but it was far too tall to reach. He wondered if he could swim to the top.

He tried to stand once more, leaning against the wall of the box as his bad leg was no longer able to support his weight. With a grunt and a gasp, he let his head fall back against the hard glass. It was harder to breathe with the amount of water. Building up the will, he screamed out, “ _Heeeelp! Help me!_ ”

The water had risen to his chest and he was nowhere near the top of the tank. He could drown with the tank being only filled halfway. Oswald wiped his face, flinching as he realized he had taken quite the beating. He struggled to keep his head above the water on only one leg. He could float for only so long, but the thin tank would not allow him very much leeway.

“No, no, please…” He whispered.

“Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll tell you whatever you want! Please, don’t kill me!”

He heard a slow clap behind him, behind the curtain of the stage. Zsasz stood still, clapping, as he stared coldly. Two women strutted to either side of him, but not his usual accomplices. Zsasz grinned, the rumble of his laugh echoing, through the theatre, but the rushing water drowned it out.

“Newbies. They came up with all of… This,” he waved his hand in Oswald’s general direction.

“Figured we’d make your death into a show.”

“I… I… I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry…. Uhm… Victor. Zsasz.” Last names are more appropriate, he thought.

“For what? I don’t even know what you did this time, but Don Falcone didn’t like it. Wanted me to get rid of you, make you suffer.” Zsasz stepped closer, descending a short stack of stairs with an all-too-nonchalant swagger. Before he could speak again, the doors burst open as Harvey, carrying a flashlight and gun, yelled out, “GCPD, hands up!”

Zsasz’s mouth twitched as he drew his gun, but Harvey began to fire first. Jim came from behind him as they both took cover behind the theatre seats. Zsasz took the opportunity to run backstage, his two accomplices keeping Jim and Harvey busy. He opened the water valve as far as it would go, then took a pile of chain to chain it open, locking it with multiple padlocks. Mostly an annoyance than a guarantee to Penguin’s death. Besides, Don Falcone only wanted to scare the timid man, and Victor had done just that. His death would simply be… An added bonus.

Too bad his new recruits didn’t make it out. Oh well, they were just pretty faces. He’d much rather have his original little team to back him up.

Oswald was now submerged in water, nowhere near the top of the tank. He grit his is teeth as he tried to hold his breath, bubbles seeping from his nose and lips. He opened his eyes in the water to see Jim approaching the tank, mouthing “I got him,” to Harvey, who just nodded and looked further back in the theatre, flashlight and gun ready.

His first instinct told him to shoot the tank, but he could end up hurting Oswald in the process. He moved behind the tank to find the hose, trying to rip it from the tank. Harvey came back, gun in holster.

“Hey, lemme give you a hand with that.”

They both pulled as hard as they could on the hose. With no avail, Jim decided to instead searched the back of the theatre, coming to find Oswald’s things thrown askew. His knife – Jim snatched it and ran back to the tank, unscrewing the hose and blunting the blade. As soon as it was loose, water rushed out and popped the hose clean off, draining the tank and allowing Oswald to breathe deep again. Harvey followed the pulley to bring Penguin up and out of the tank, letting him drop for Jim to catch him.

Oswald was shaking; not just nervous jittering, but Jim Gordon saw he was scared. Eye and cheek swelling, cut lip, nose, and even his eyebrow.

Jim set him down gently, removing his jacket to put over him – he was soaked like a rat and shivering violently.  He clung to Jim, keeping him locked in a tight, desperate hug. Jim was reluctant, but held him back, eventually succumbing to more instinctive gestures; hand against Oswald’s neck, petting his wet hair as he sobbed apologies. It was pathetic, but something boiled in him. Jim would rather keep as far away from this man as he could, but he’d never shown him any real ill intent. Oswald’s constant preaching about how he’d never hurt Jim, never cause him harm – out of everything the odd, conniving, timid little man said, that’s what Jim believed most. Knowing that, something in him wanted to keep him from harm. At least, _this_ kind of harm. He doubted there was anything anyone could do about Oswald Cobblepot getting beaten in the back of an alley, or punched in the face by either Don, or slapped by Mooney… But this was a different kind of violence.

Harvey’s heavy steps approached the two. He sat down beside Jim, who was cradling the sniveling, though quieter, Oswald Cobblepot.

“Nice dog. Fish it out of a river or something?”

“Be nice,” Jim snipped.

“Sorry… Ambulance’ll be here in a jiffy. You hang in there, Cobblepot, you hear?”

Oswald swiftly nodded his head, slightly jerky.

Oswald demanded new clothes and release the next morning, leaning against a borrowed cane only to be stopped on his way out by Jim. He jumped slightly startled by the detective’s appearance.

“Jim! I… I’m glad you came.” He was starstruck for a moment longer before he realized he was staring.

“Oh, uhm… I was just on my way out. You’ve saved my life again, Jim, and I’m eternally grateful. I’m sorry I always end up being the _damsal in distress_ , you could say, but—”

“It’s fine, Cobblepot.”

“I would just like to express my gratitude—”

“I said its fine.”

Oswald felt his grin falter. He sighed, placing both his hands on his new cane

“You… You okay?”

“Yes, Jim. I’m fine.” He was being somewhat curt, in respond to Jim’s less-than-savory attitude.

“Look, I don’t know what you did to Don Falcone, all I know is he wanted someone dead.”

“And you come to save my life, yet again.”

“If I had known it was _you_ held captive by Victor…” Jim pointed a finger accusingly into Oswald’s chest. His smile was gone completely, and a hurt, betrayed expression grew on his face.

“You would have, what, Jim? Left me there to die? I didn’t realize I was such a burden to you.”

“No, that’s… That’s not what I meant.”

Jim sighed, a hand at the back of his own neck for a moment.

“Then what _did_ you mean? I get it, you don’t want to be my friend. No one really does.. But I thought you were a _decent. Human. Being_.” Oswald’s angry, tilted head expression faded into sorrow and regret.

“I’m sorry… That was harsh of me. I… I’m sorry, Jim. Truly. I’ll be going now, so I don’t have to bother you with my presence.”

Jim held back a deep sigh at the man’s melodrama.

“Look I… I can’t be seen with you around. People already think I’m in the Dons’ pockets, saving one of their own could just…Oswald—”

“ _No_. Only my _friends_ are allowed to call me that.”

Jim nodded, hands on his hips before he stepped aside for Oswald to waddle his way out. Jim almost felt bad. Shit, he _did_ feel bad. He looked back to Oswald as he leaned heavily on the cane.

“…Oswald, wait.”

The man stopped, waiting a moment before straightening himself. Jim caught up with him in a few strides. He struggled for a moment about what to say.

“How’s, uh.. How’s that business going? You took over Mooney’s place, right?”

Strained, as if spoken through his teeth, Oswald replied, “Yes. It’s not going very well, actually. Don Falcone was starting to get upset with me.”

So that’s why. Drown a business, then drown the man in charge of said business.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you mind if I... Dropped in? Just for a drink, nothing else.”

Oswald turned to him, nearly beaming, though still uncertain. Was he really that easy?

“I-I.. I wouldn’t mind at all! I thought you had been avoiding it, especially since you.. Outright rejected my invitation.”

“Yeah… Sorry about that. Work and all.”

“Right. Work and all,” he echoed.

“But, no… It would do me a great pleasure to have you come to my club for a drink. I… I didn’t mean to say such terrible things. I just... You know.”

“No, it was my fault. Anyway… I’ll be seeing you.”

Oswald nodded quickly, smiling. “And I’ll be seeing you, Jim.”

He hoped he could just stop by for a drink and not get caught up in too much idle chatter, but somehow Jim doubted that. Hell, was it even safe for Oswald to go back to the club? Jim figured it would be easier to trail him on the way there.

He stopped by an older neighborhood, heading inside to one of the quaint little houses. Up against the outer wall, Jim could hear the thick-accent of a woman praising Oswald as her ‘ _good little boy_.’ His mother, Jim presumed. He kept an eye out for anyone else that could be trailing either him or Cobblepot.

Standing outside of the club, sporting an umbrella instead of a fish neon sign, he adjusted his tie and opened the door. It was… Pretty dead inside. Renovations done, but business seemed pretty terrible. Only a handful of patrons sat in, talking amongst themselves over the terrible comedian on the stage. It didn’t take long to spot Oswald, and his fan of feathery hair at the center table. He motioned to one of the bartenders, silently asking permission as he got himself a drink. They nodded to him and he proceeded to walk towards the somewhat stiff body at the table.

“Hey,” he muttered, snapping Oswald from his thoughts. Oswald smiled brightly, as per usual. He was.. Actually glad the man wasn’t angry with him anymore. He thought it was strange how someone so conniving and capable of holding a deep, long grudge would just… Be so unbothered by their earlier encounter.

“I hope the alcohol is to your taste,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jim replied shortly.

“Oh, do please sit,” Oswald pulled out a chair and moved his own to make room for Jim. “I apologize if the entertainment is rather… Dry.”

“I’m not really here for the entertainment.”

“Oh? Well, might I ask why you wanted to come? I mean.. As I’ve stated before, you did outright reject my invitation, and I doubt it was because you were swamped with work.”

“I’m sorry about that. I guess… I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Oswald peered at his face quietly, looking for ay micro-expression that would tell him otherwise.

“I’m glad. That’s very thoughtful of you. I do enjoy your company.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Would you like something to eat?”

“This a restaurant, too?” Jim looked around and didn’t remember any sort of menu about.

“Oh, no, I meant.. Maybe you wanted to go out somewhere. It’s a little depressing here. N-not that I don’t appreciate the business! Or your company.”

Jim contemplated it for a moment, but his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Harvey.

“Excuse me.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Oswald was no longer paying any mind to the terrible stand up on stage, but rather Jim’s walk and gait as he spoke with Harvey a slight ways from the tables. He hung up and downed the rest of his drink. Oswald frowned, somewhat disappointed. He supposed Jim would have to leave now.

“Hey, uh... Let’s go get that brunch.”

Oswald was caught off guard by the answer.

“Doesn’t your partner need you?”

“No, he’s fine. Heard there’s a nice diner on the other end of town. You mind?”

Oswald snapped out of another daze to finally answer.

“Uhm, no. Not at all! I’m the one who offered, right? My treat.”

“Great.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to incorporate this bit, but it felt too OOC for either Jim or Harvey. Ah, well, here you go, anyway, a nice little bonus for whoever you want.  
> He was always shaking, always timid, despite that spitfire wit of his.  
> "You always like that?" he finally asked, walking slow enough for Oswald to keep up with his heavy limp.  
> "Like what?"  
> "All... Scared, and shit. Like you could get jumped at any moment."  
> "Well, it _is_ Gotham."  
>  "Yeah, but you don't have to go on shaking all the time. I can't tell if that's how you really are or if you're just that good of a conniving little bastard."  
> Oswald cleared his throat.  
> "I would't really call myself a bastard... But, no, I, uh... I am rather timid, I suppose. My apologies. Is it bothering you?"  
> "No.. Just wanting to know if you're only pretending to be adorable. Guess you're not."  
> "I.. I'm what?"  
> "You heard me."


End file.
